


I Like It

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Date scenario: the power goes out during dinner while going over case files and it quickly turns into a romantic date with the innovative use of their flashlights.





	I Like It

The smell of garlic and onions has been scientifically proven to increase the appetite. Well, she admits as they enter the restaurant, maybe not scientifically, but he’s nodding and smiling broadly as he guides her with his hand to the small of her back to a table in the corner. She feels the pleasure of the familiar spread through her and he leans in to whisper, “I just go with my gut on these things.” He takes her hand and clasps it against his stomach, “and right now it’s saying, oh Miss Scully, I’m hungry, feed me all the garlicky things.”

She lets a laugh rush through her nose and he pulls out the chair for her. As she sits he places the casefiles between the salt and pepper shakers that are shaped like cow horns, and the candle, sickly red in an unlabelled green wine bottle. The waiter pours water and takes their order for drinks. Two beers, ice cold. It’s humid and her hair is frizzing. She pats it down and he watches her, quirking his head to one side.

“I like it,” he says and picks up the menu so she can’t read his face. He’s been doing this lately. She thinks it’s flirting. No, it is flirting. He compliments her more. He stares at her for longer. He hangs around her apartment. He brings pastries to the office. She likes it. This lighter version of him.

She orders the salmon, he the steak, medium rare, with sweet potato fries “because you like them, Scully, admit it.” She does and touches a stray curl that catches the periphery of her vision. He leans over and tucks it back for her. The lights flicker, blink and go out. For a moment they spark back on again and she holds her breath. Maybe because of the power cut, or maybe because he’s still holding his hand to her hair. 

“Wow, Scully. You’ve got the power.”

She laughs despite the bad pun and the darkness settles around them. Through the window she can see the neon Vacancy sign flashing from their motel and the yellow streaks of passing car headlights. To the west, over the lake, the sky is blue with lightning. 

The waiter brings their beer and an apology. Steak and salmon can be flash-fried in a pan on the gas but the fries are out. “We can serve you a salad,” he says and Scully nods, knowing that stealing lettuce from Mulder’s plate won’t afford her the same gentle teasing. He lights the candle but Mulder has already fished out his flashlight and is shining it at the open file.

“All the victims were found in shallow graves with their tongues removed. You’ve confirmed that in the two latest cases, the instrument of removal appears to be the same. A hacksaw or similar.”

“Do we have to do this now?” she asks, nibbling a breadstick and feeling the first bubbles of sweat dotting her forehead. Air-conditioning is out. She fans herself with the menu and he watches her again, holding the arc of light just shy of her chin. Her cross glints in its beam. She touches it with her free hand, self-conscious under his strangely magnetic gaze. Must be the atmosphere, she thinks. 

“What do you want to do then?” He swigs his beer and lets the bottle pop from his mouth. He’s wearing that grin again, the one that makes her feel like a teenager on a first date. She dips her head away. She’s not a teenager. But this kind of feels like a date. She can’t pinpoint quite why.

“It’s just…an unsettling case,” she starts, but it’s not that. It’s not that she doesn’t want to commit to the job. The case is horrific. They can help the local law enforcement. They might be able to save lives. It’s not the case…it’s…She’s not quite sure she can articulate it. He dances the flashlight up to the ceiling and in the penumbra he’s brooding and dangerous, angles cut across his cheeks and jaw, nose triangular, eyes like onyx. She breathes in. It’s all she can do. If she exhales, he’ll see how her breathing judders and shakes and he’ll ask her about it. Examine her with his direct questions, his low voice, his tilting head.

Under the table his foot taps against hers. Footsie in a darkened room. She fans herself harder. He smirks and lets the light fall so that there’s a bright circle on the white tablecloth. It leaves rings behind her eyes. She blinks and the waiter appears, like a special effect, beamed up and bearing their meals.

Mulder cuts his steak into neat shapes and she flakes her fish. The salad is left untouched on his plate but he stabs a cherry tomato onto his fork and without warning lifts it to her mouth. She takes it between her teeth and it pops, yielding the sweet pips and sending a spray across to his face. He drops the flashlight and it rolls, sending light circles over her chest. She’s wearing a dark blouse and it turns into a midnight sky with a crescent moon over her heart as the flashlight stills. He’s laughing and she dabs his cheek with her napkin. He’s done that for her before, she’s never forgotten. He captures her hand and presses the serviette to his face. His eyes darken.

“You look mysterious in this light, Scully.”

She blushes so hard her top lip weeps sweat. 

“I like it,” he says for the second time that night. “I…like you, like this.”  
“Like what?” she says, mesmerised by a lightning display flaring across the simmering sky.

“Soft, damp at the edges.” He lets the waiter take their plates. “You’re like a Renaissance painting, curling hair and pink cheeks and blue eyes. You’re…”

“Mulder,” she says but it’s like a wisp of sound over her vocal chords, not quite words. 

He picks up the flashlight and shines it under his chin, pulling a face, so that he looks ghoulish. He smiles then sets the light down. The candle flickers, sending up a plume of grey smoke and an elegant cursive wax flourish down the side.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” he says, “but it’s the truest truth. Without you, before you, I was nothing, a spooky freak, a loser in the basement. But since you, it’s like I’ve been reborn. You’ve been my renaissance, Scully. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

A crack of thunder booms overhead and the windows rattle. She gasps and he grabs her hand, holding it safe between his palms. The room lights up with the lightning that follows. “Seems like there’s some kind of electricity between us, Scully.” She hangs her head and lets out a giggle that ripples between them. “Seems like it’s been there since the beginning. I like it…” His shoulders arch as his face moves towards hers. “Don’t you?”

The way his lips move as he says ‘you’, she imagines, is exactly how they would move if he were to kiss her. She likes it, that thought. She stretches her neck towards him and he presses his mouth to hers so she can feel the light bristle on his chin and the tension in his jaw. He’s still holding her hand and he flexes her fingers in his grip and the sparks that run up her arm end when the sky lights up again. Friction catches her hair. She wonders about her conductivity when she should be wondering about what his next move will be. It’s delicious, the not knowing, the not caring. He kisses her again, lips open, tongue dipping into her mouth. 

When he pulls away, a smile of wonder is captured on his face and she wants that image printed out and stood on her bedside in a silver frame. 

“The world still hasn’t ended,” he says. 

It hasn’t even started yet, she thinks.

Outside, the night is crackling with power. They hold hands and follow the flashlight trail as he dances it across the ground. 

“Thank you,” he says as they reach her motel room door.

“For what?”

“For kissing me back.” There’s a curl in his lips that speaks of relief.

“I liked it,” she says, energised by his expression and the storm that still rumbles outside. “And I’d like to do it again. If you don’t mind.”

You’d be forgiven for missing the slight nod of his head but there’s a gentle crease on his forehead that deepens as he bends down to meet her. The lights come on and he gasps into her mouth. The power’s back, she thinks as she kisses him deeper, but they’re no longer in the dark.


End file.
